The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  Interestingly, the article in the April 2 issue stated that all charges against the boys were being dropped and the case was being closed. Again, Chief Gill had been infected with a sudden case of no-comment- itis. Surprise, surprise. Getting information out of him was about as easy as coaxing a pro wrestler to a tea party. But the bombshell was that the article mentioned the name of the boys' lawyer-Robert Cummings. Cummings! He was involved in the Gail Bauer case.

  Now, sprawled on his bed at the Dew-Drop, Joe flipped through the leather-bound journal, scanning the pages Josiah had not bookmarked. The reading was interesting, to say the least. The good reverend must have been a notable figure in the town of Dark Hills. It seemed he was involved in almost everyone's life in some way or another.

  But it was when Joe got to the bookmarked pages that the reading got really interesting. The first marked page was dated September 4, 1922. Joe scanned the handwritten entry.

  Joe Kline was found dead today. Henry said he was mauled by a rogue black bear. I have my doubts, though. I've seen what a bear can do to a deer, a dog, even a cow, and the condition of the poor man's body was far worse than anything I have ever witnessed-too gruesome to put into words. I have no idea what nature of beast could maul a man so viciously.

  Henry and three other gentlemen went hunting for the beast but returned without success.

  Joe flipped to the next bookmarked page, dated September 20.

  There have been three more deadly attacks in the past week, Roger Bixby, Max Gregory, and Alvin Billet. The most stunning and saddening was the death of Alvin. He had always been slow and depended on his mother to care for him. The beast showed no mercy. I cannot even bring myself to pen the details of his attack, but the images will remain with me for the remainder of my time in this earthen vessel. My heart aches for his mother who is now alone.

  Henry is becoming more and more secretive and reclusive regarding the animal attacks. He seems to know something but is divulging no information. None that is helpful, anyway. The citizens are becoming restless and frightened. Today, when Alvin's body was found, there was widespread panic in town. Nobody leaves their homes after dark anymore. Many have come to me seeking spiritual comfort. I've done the best I can.

  Even more disturbing is the behavior of Philip Yates. He's been seen wandering the streets of downtown ranting about a "devil lion" ushering in the Day of Judgment. He mentions vengeance often. People are beginning to say that he is involved in devil worship. I must speak with him regarding this matter.

  Joe's interest was hooked. There was turmoil in Dark Hills: savage murders, a rogue beast, a reclusive cop, and a nutty hermit ranting about the devil. The Gazette had left out some of the best parts. He read on.

  October 1, 1922

  I went to the home of Philip Yates today. He is an odd man, indeed. As is his home. His grandfather was a plantation owner in South Carolina, and the Yates home is furnished with a variety of African carvings and idols the slaves produced in their free time. Philip showed particular interest in and was especially proud to tell me about a severed lion paw. He said his grandfather accepted the paw from one of his slaves as a gift. Apparently, the lion was a man-eater that had eaten upwards of ten men in a remote village. The slaves called the beast Simba Mfu, a devil lion. Philip then spent the rest of my visit ranting about the wrongs committed against him by the people of Dark Hills. He never mentioned the nature of the wrongdoings, nor did he mention the names of the wrongdoers, even after my repeated questions, but he promised revenge on all of them.

  I am concerned Philip may be dealing in witchcraft. He insists he is not, but his behavior has grown so bizarre I can draw no other conclusion.

  So the folklore was right. Old Man Yates was dancing with the devil. Joe fanned through the pages to the next marked entry.

  October 7, 1922

  I was involved in a hunting party dispatched to Yates Woods to track and kill the beast that has been terrorizing our town. Two hours into the ordeal, all of us heard a bellowing roar, like a lion's, then a hideous scream. We ran to where the scream had sounded and found Leonard Toomey mauled and dead. The image of his faceless head will forever be seared into my memory. Only God knows what took his life.

  When we returned to town carrying Leonard's body, Philip Yates was waiting for us, ranting about the judgment that had befallen Dark Hills, the vengeance that was rightly administered. I must admit, he has the whole town fearful. Henry warned him, but Philip only became more insistent.

  Was Yates just playing on the town's fears, or was he really involved in witchcraft? Or was he just plain nuts? There was one more page marked.

  October 29, 1922

  God forgive us for what we have done. Last night Henry and I went to the home of Philip Yates to speak with him. It was our intention to be forthright with him and inform him of the fear and hysteria he was planting in the hearts and minds of the townsfolk. He wanted nothing of our visit and threatened to shoot us if we did not leave his property.

  Henry and I returned to town, and Henry promptly organized a posse to run Philip out of his home and out of Dark Hills. A mob of about thirty men was soon assembled. Most had guns, and I noticed some carrying gasoline containers. I urged Henry to reconsider. I told him force was not the way to handle the problem. But he pushed me aside and led the mob into Yates Woods.

  By the time I caught up with them, the posse had worked themselves into a frenzy, accusing Philip of being a devil worshiper and calling upon an evil spirit. They demanded he come out of his house and face his due punishment. After some time, Philip fired what sounded like a shotgun into the air. Henry then ordered the house be doused with gasoline, and it was promptly set to fire. As the home burned, the screams of Philip could be clearly heard. This only seemed to inspire the mob more, and they began discharging their weapons into the blazing house.

  It took only about thirty minutes for the house to be totally engulfed in flames. At the fire's fiercest point a loud roar could be heard coming from inside the home. I do not know what Philip had in the home, only that his screams and that roar will not soon leave my ears. I pray God will forgive us, but I do not expect any mercy for the sin our town has committed.

  So much for the chimney fire story. The ignorant folks of Dark Hills were incited. And Henry Gill was behind the whole thing.

  There was only one more entry in the journal.

  October 31, 1922

  I write this final entry with much fear and trepidation. Henry met me at my house today and urged me neither to speak of what happened in Yates Woods nor to speak of the animal attacks. When I hesitated, he became very obstinate and threatened to punish me if I ever spoke or wrote of it. His demeanor has changed since the burning. He has become very reclusive and ill-tempered. I fear he will not hesitate to harm me if I do not heed his request.

  So this will be my final entry in this journal. I can only pray that God will know the condition of my heart and see the contrition of my soul.

  Joe closed the book slowly and ran his hand over the smooth leather cover. His heart was beating fast, and his palms were moist with sweat. So that's the Gill family secret. No wonder they'd kept it under lock and key for so many decades. Not exactly a history to be proud of.

  He looked at the clock-4:40. He'd have to go to Maggie's soon.

  Maggie. What should he do about her? He'd confront her, that's what he'd do. Lives were at stake. One had already been lost. This was no time to keep secrets if she had information that could save more lives from being taken. One question still remained, though: What was that thing that mauled Caleb and killed Cummings? Was it really a lion? Or was it a devil, a Simba Mfu, as Old Man Yates called it? Yeah, right. The guy was nuts. Maybe Maggie knew. Maybe she'd known all along, and it was all part of the Secret.

  Then it hit him like a lightning bolt to the chest-Stevie knows.

  Maybe that's what Caleb was trying to say. Stevie knows the answer. He made a mental note to call Josiah in the morning a
nd arrange a time to talk to Stevie.

  For now, though, he had Maggie to deal with.

  CHAPTER 27

  AGGIE LEANED TOWARD the mirror and put the finishing touches on her face-hazelnut eye shadow, seashell lipstick. She smoothed down a few rebellious strands of hair that had decided they would not conform to the style she had chosen for the evening, stepped back, and looked at herself. Her lips glistened, eyes sparkled. Her hair hung loosely over her shoulders-not bad for an old maid.

  She then set about to putting the finishing touches on the houselighting candles, votives, and a fragrant oil burner, cinnamon.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall-5:35. Joe would be there soon. Butterflies flitted about in her stomach, and she wished she could open a door and just let them escape. She was looking forward to her meal with Joe, but questions had been swirling in her head all day, and she wrestled with the answers. What was Joe doing reading papers from 1922? The answer was obvious, wasn't it? He was looking for something. People didn't just walk into the Dark Hills library and ask for the 1922 editions of the Gazette-the 1922 editions. Hardly light reading. But what was he looking for? And how did he know where to look?

  Relax, she told herself for the hundredth time that day. Relax. He can't know anything and wouldn't find anything reading some old newspapers, anyway. Great-Grandpa made sure the historical account was what he wanted it to be. He was thinking about future generations, planning ahead. But someone knew. Of that she was sure. Someone had to tell Joe where to look. She'd have to keep an eye on him, find out who he'd been talking to.

  But it's Joe, Joe Saunders, she reminded herself again, not some two-bit snoop trying to ruin her career.

  But it's your family, Maggie. Your legacy. Your daddy. And if the truth surfaces, it will ruin your career and ruin what little quality of life Dad has left. He'll go to his grave with nothing. The reality of that truth pressed against her heart like a tumor.

  She went to the kitchen, opened the oven, and checked the chicken. A wave of heat carrying the aroma of rosemary, bacon, and pearl onions floated past her. What if he started asking questions? Started getting all nosy, wanting answers?

  Relax. Just stick to the story in the Gazette. That was history, the only historical record there was.

  But why not just tell him the truth? She could trust Joe, couldn't she? She was once ready to trust him with her life. Couldn't she trust him now?

  No! No way. He would never understand. Things had gotten too complicated already. No one could know what really happened. Not even Joe.

  She swallowed hard and tried to will those butterflies away. Please, Joe, don't ask questions.

  A knock at the door startled her.

  Joe. He was early.

  Maggie took one last look in the mirror, wiped some mascara from her cheek, scolded those rebellious locks, and drew in a deep breath. It felt like there was a jackrabbit in her chest trying to thump itself free.

  Relax. It's just Joe.

  She swung the door open and smiled. Joe stood before her, a vision from the past. His hair was neatly combed, his face cleanly shaven, and the brown coat he wore brought out his milk chocolate eyes. He looked just like that eighteen-year-old boy who stole her heart so long ago, but his broad chest and thick shoulders were definitely those of a man.

  "Hello, Maggie," Joe said. It had stopped raining, the clouds had parted, and the evening light cast a soft glow on the sloping angles of his face.

  "Hi, Joe." She opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come on in. Dinner's almost ready."

  Joe stepped inside and removed his coat. "Smells great. What did you make?"

  "Rosemary chicken. It's something new I'm trying. Hope it turns out OK." She took his coat and hung it behind the door as she closed it. "I gotta go check on it, so"-she motioned toward the living room-"have a seat and make yourself at home."

  "Is there anything I can help you with?"

  "No. You just sit and relax."

  Joe sat on the sofa, and Maggie returned to the kitchen to finish preparing the meal and setting the table.

  "I like your place, Mags," Joe said from the living room. "It's got real personality. I like the retro forties look."

  "Thanks." Maggie leaned against the doorframe between the kitchen and living room and looked around. A lot of the furniture was her parents', but she'd spent a lot of her off time scouring antique shops and flea markets for glassware and accessories from the thirties and forties. She liked the era; life was simple then, slow-paced. "I like it. It's home, you know. It's me."

  Joe smiled and nodded, looking around. "Yeah. I can see that."

  Maggie returned to the kitchen and put the chicken on a glass platter. "So ... how's Caleb doing?"

  She didn't miss Joe's hesitation. Her police experience red-flagged it: he was hiding something. "Uh, he's not much better. The doctors say there's progress, but nothing we can really see. He's getting good care, though, physical therapy and everything."

  Maggie moved into the dining room and busied herself with setting the food on the table. "I'm sure he'll come around. How's Rosa holding up?"

  Joe laughed. "Oh, you know Rosa. She's incredible. I don't think she has ever doubted that Caleb will make a full recovery. Her faith is inspiring. I feel so small whenever I'm with her."

  "She is an incredibly strong woman," Maggie said. She made a few trips back and forth between the kitchen and dining room and finally said, "OK. It's ready."

  For the next thirty minutes, Joe and Maggie intermingled talking with chewing. The conversation was mostly small talk, reminiscing about old times, trading gossip about old friends and schoolmates, and generally just catching up on the last fifteen years. Maggie was careful to keep the conversation on comfortable ground and avoid any talk of the attacks. It was like doing a conversational waltz-going through the motions while staying out of each other's way.

  Joe set down his fork, propped his elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hands. "So why did you become a cop? What happened to being a vet?"

  Up until that point, Maggie was happy with where the conversation was going-and not going. If they could just steer clear of her family, police work, and Dark Hills history, she might just make it through the evening unscathed. But Joe had asked the question and now sat staring at her with wide eyes, waiting for an answer. She'd have to play it safe. For now.

  She forced a shaky laugh and finished chewing her chicken. "Too much college. After you... left." She paused and noted the shift of his eyes. She'd made him uncomfortable. "I took some courses at Penn State Mont Alto, general ed stuff, but the more I took, the more I realized college wasn't for me. You know I never was a bookworm."

  "But you always got good grades."

  She gave him a look that scolded. "Not good. Better than you, but not good enough for veterinarian school. That's when I decided to enroll in the police academy in Harrisburg." She held her fork in midair, letting her mind wander back to the day she announced she'd be attending the academy. Her mom and dad were sitting at the table in this very room, finishing their dinner when she barged into the house all smiles and giggles.

  "How were your classes today?" Mom asked.

  Maggie sat down at the table next to Mom and across from Dad and smiled a grin that took up half her face. "Classes were terrible."

  Dad looked at her with one eyebrow cocked. "So why all the smiles?"

  Maggie slapped the table. "Mom, Dad, I have an announcement to make."

  "Oh, boy," Mom said, rolling her eyes and lowering her fork. "I don't know if I'm ready for this. You're not pregnant, are you?"

  Maggie held a hand over her mouth and laughed. "Mom! No way! You two know I'm not really cut out for this college stuff, don't you?"

  Her parents just looked at each other, neither saying a word but both wearing a look that said they knew what was coming.

  "Well, I decided to drop out," she paused for effect while her parents exchanged glances, "and join the police acad
emy. I want to be a police officer!"

  Dad jumped up so fast he nearly knocked the table over. "My baby's going to be an officer," he shouted, then wrapped her in a bear hug so tight she thought she'd never catch her breath.

  "-Maggie."

  Joe was saying her name. She blinked the memory away and stared at Joe.

  "How did your dad take the news?"

  A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Maggie's mouth. "As you could guess, my parents, especially my dad, were very pleased when I told them I wanted to become a police officer. He actually cried." Her eyes drifted from Joe's and focused on some distant memory on the far wall. "It was the first time I ever saw him cry."

  "You were carrying on the legacy."

  Maggie snapped her eyes back to meet Joe's. The legacy. He'd mentioned the legacy. Her mind was in the present again. "Yes. That's right. My family's been in law enforcement here in Dark Hills for generations."

  Joe picked up his fork again and speared a piece of chicken. "Did you feel any added pressure to carry on the torch?"

  "No. Never." Maggie was quickly erecting walls around her and knew Joe could tell by the tone of her voice. "I mean, I knew my dad wanted me to be a cop. It was no secret. But I also knew he would have supported me wholeheartedly if I'd chosen to do something else outside law enforcement."

  "Are you happy with the choice you made?"

  Maggie paused and let her mind wander for just a moment. She always thought she liked her job-she was doing some real good in the world, at least in Dark Hills-but now sitting in her home with Joe across the table made her think twice about whether she'd made the right choice all those years ago. "Yes and no. I love being a cop, helping people, making sure they feel safe, doing some right in a world that seems to have so much wrong with it. I have the power to make a real change. It may only be in this little community, but for the people who live here, this is their world. And I can help make their world a safer place. I like that." She stopped, satisfied with her answer.

  "And the no?"